


Antifreeze (The Pretty in Pink Remix)

by heyjupiter



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Female Character of Color, Gen, Post-Canon, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days Mystique finds it hard to explain why she chose to leave her brother and join Magneto, but she does enjoy the presence of other female mutants. Especially when a frivolous shopping trip in Paris makes Angel and Emma thaw out a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antifreeze (The Pretty in Pink Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Antifreeze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082087) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust). 
  * In response to a prompt by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



> This is a remix of littledust's story "Antifreeze" and a lot of Emma and Mystique's dialogue is lifted straight from that. Thanks for letting me borrow it :)
> 
> Thanks also to my lovely beta reader, pocky_slash!

What Mystique wants to know, but is too afraid to ask, is why doesn't Emma walk around in her frozen form all the time? Magneto had convinced Mystique that her blue skin was beautiful. It had taken time for his message to sink in, but now when she looks in the mirror and sees her blue face, she loves what she sees. Emma's other form is truly stunning, the ice shining like diamonds. Why wouldn't she choose to remain like that all the time? Perhaps it makes her feel cold.

One day, when they're lounging around a safehouse in London, waiting for Magneto to return from his reconnaissance, she gathers her courage and asks Emma, with forced casualness, "So, how does the whole freezing yourself thing work?" It seems more polite than asking her real question.

Emma continues flipping through _Vogue_ , as if she hadn't already read this month's issue, as if Mystique isn't even in the room. "It's not ice," Emma says, although her voice is.

"Your name…" Mystique says, trailing off. Everyone else has a name that reflects their powers; why wouldn't Emma Frost?

"Is my actual name. I don't need a silly moniker to feel important," Emma says.

"I just wanted to know," Mystique says. She picks up her newspaper and leaves the room, with forced nonchalance. If it weren't for her blue skin, she thinks she'd be blushing. She'd thought her brother could be condescending, but that was before she'd gotten to know Emma Frost. 

She finds Angel in the bedroom they share, and flops down on her twin bed dramatically. She wants Angel to ask her what's wrong, but Angel doesn't.

Finally, Mystique asks, "Do you remember when we picked our codenames?"

"Sure," Angel says, flatly. "It was the night Darwin died. It was the night I joined Shaw."

"Yeah. Of course," Mystique says, wincing. So much had happened that night. "But before that… remember how fun it was? We felt like we were all together? Like… mutant… and proud. Right?"

Angel shrugs. "I don't know. I guess."

"You guess?" Mystique asks. It had been such an important moment for her. She'd been luckier than some mutants--she'd found Charles, she'd known she wasn't alone in the world--but to meet so many of them, to have them be impressed with her gift instead of telling her to cover it up… that had been amazing.

"It's just… I dunno. We were all mutants, but I didn't really feel like I belonged," Angel says.

"What? Why not?"

"Seriously?" Angel asks.

"Yeah," Mystique says. "I mean… we were all mutants. We're all mutants."

"You were all _white_ mutants. Except Darwin, who… well, you know," Angel says.

"Who Shaw _killed_. And I'm not white, I'm blue," Mystique says.

"Oh, don't give me that," Angel says. "When it comes down to it--when you go to the grocery store or the swimming pool or whatever--you're white." She doesn't say anything about Darwin, and Mystique doesn't press it. She knows Angel is still upset about Darwin--they share a bedroom, and sometimes Angel has nightmares.

Instead, Mystique says, "I guess I never thought about it that way."

"Imagine that. Let me ask you something, Mystique--you can choose to look however you want, and what do you choose?"

Mystique points at her blue face. "I choose this."

"Yeah, but in public?" 

Mystique bites her lip, thinking about the face she'd picked out for herself as a child. It was blonde and blue-eyed, just like all the prettiest girls in the movies. 

"That's right, blondie," Angel says. "I mean, not that I blame you."

"But Shaw was…"

"Was honest," Angel says, cutting off Mystique's attempt to mention Shaw's race.

"So was Charles!" Mystique protests, in spite of herself.

"If that's true, how come you're here?" 

"I just…" Mystique trails off. On days like this, she's not sure why she's here, but it hurts to admit that.

Angel reaches across the aisle between their beds and puts her hand over Mystique's. "Hey, it's okay. You're here, and that's what matters."

 

* * *

Later that week, when Emma announces they're going to Paris for a shopping trip, Mystique is less than thrilled. This is not what she left home for. She wanted to change the world, not her wardrobe. And anymore, she really resents time spent out of her blue form. But as an experiment, this time when she prepares to leave the house, she shifts to a darker-skinned version of the body she normally uses, with black hair, like Angel's.

Emma raises her eyebrows at Mystique's new face and says, "You don't match your passport photo."

Mystique shrugs. "So I got a tan and dyed my hair. It's the same basic face." She's not stupid, no matter what Emma thinks.

"Well, take it down a notch before we get to the airport. You can... experiment… once we land, if you must," Emma orders.

Mystique sighs and obeys. She quietly sulks the whole flight while Angel reads a Paris guidebook on the seat next to her. Emma is up in first class without them; her generosity only extends so far. After they land and breeze through customs she slips into a crowded public bathroom and changes her look.

When she rejoins Angel and Emma, Angel is still looking intently at her guidebook and Emma is looking bored. "Have you been to Paris before?" Angel asks. "Oh, of course you have. I've never been anywhere..."

Mystique shrugs. She _has_ , but it wasn't much fun.

"I bet you speak French, too," Angel says.

"Not really," Mystique says. "I used to just let Charles talk for me."

"Well, not anymore," Emma says. She hails a cab for them and leads them to a very posh boutique.

"I bet you used to buy all your clothes at places like this," Angel says

Mystique shrugs. "I don't really need to do much shopping," she says lightly, although it's true that at the Xavier mansion she'd had tons of clothes. Some of them are probably still there, in her childhood bedroom. Charles had insisted it was easier to let the household staff do her laundry than it would be for him to explain why she hadn't needed clothes. Charles had insisted that she needed to be covered. 

"Anyway, I've seen all this before," Mystique says. She sees a hurt look briefly cross Angel's face and adds, "No offense. It's just that I'm good at clothes. I was wearing miniskirts before they were on the market."

"Scandalized quite a few, I bet," Emma murmurs, an eyebrow raised. 

Mystique refrains from commenting on Emma's hem length and says, "Not as many as I would have if I were blue. Can I go back to the safehouse? I'm tired of pretending to be normal."

"Speak for yourself," Angel mutters. "Who knows when we'll be able to get free clothes again?"

Mystique bites her lip and forces herself to remember how she'd felt when she'd first arrived at the Xavier mansion, how impressed and bitter their conspicuous wealth had made her feel. She remembers how excited she'd been when Charles had given her a beautiful blue Dior dress to wear for her high school graduation. She feels a wash of sympathy and guilt, and doesn't remember why she'd been so annoyed in the first place.

She fingers a little black dress and says, "Angel, this would look amazing on you."

Emma looks at the dress, then at them. "She's right."

Angel shrugs, but she smiles when Emma arranges for a shopkeeper to get one in Angel's size and take it into the dressing room.

"You don't miss your closets full of clothes?" Emma asks, and Mystique wonders if she's been reading her mind. At least she had trusted Charles not to sneak into her thoughts, not ever. Emma was not so scrupulous.

"I don't want to cover up who I am. The face I'm wearing right now is for purely stealth purposes," Mystique says defiantly. That was why she had joined with Erik. He had appreciated her natural form, in a way that Charles had not. She understood that the rest of humanity didn't--but that was their problem.

"Darling, it's not about covering it up, it's about crafting an image. When you're in your natural form, anyone can see that you're a mutant, regardless of how many clothes you're wearing. What if we can't recruit other mutants because they think we're a nudist cult?" Emma says.

"Not that your outfits cover much," Mystique replies, but she smiles. Besides, she does enjoy the feel of a nice cashmere sweater or silk nightgown on her skin. And growing up with the Xaviers, she'd never really gone on a girly shopping trip like this one. Mostly, Sharon had one of their household staff go out and purchase new school clothes for her and Charles. She quickly picked out a few dresses for herself and went to wait for Angel to get out of her dressing room.

Angel stepped out, wearing the black dress, and raised her eyebrows at Mystique. "That hot pink one will look good with that skin tone," she said.

"You think? Let me try it on."

"I'm sure," Angel says, but she waits outside the dressing room with a smile.

* * *

Back at their London safehouse, Mystique shifts back to her blue form and hangs up her new things. Then she goes back out to the living room and flips through Emma's discarded _Vogue_. She's pleased to recognize a few of the outfits she'd picked out earlier that day. She wasn't lying when she'd told Emma she was good at clothes.

"It's diamond," Emma says.

"What?" Mystique asks, looking closely at the magazine page. She doesn't notice any jewelry on it.

"My other form. The name Emma Frost makes people in the know think that I have some sort of powers that have to do with winter. Everyone else expects me to be some sort of ice queen."

 _And their expectations are met,_ Mystique thinks. Aloud, she asks, "Is that why you kept your name?"

Emma smiles. "My, not even a telepath and you're perceptive," she says, and Mystique isn't quite sure if she's mocking her. It's so often hard to tell with Emma. "You have to wonder the degree to which we create our own images. You, for instance, are sporting a lovely outfit and equally lovely blue skin, but you didn't choose the blue skin, any more than Angel chose her brown skin."

Self-consciously, Mystique adjusts the strap of her new dress. It feels strange to be wearing actual cloth, as opposed to her projected outfits, which are perfectly tailored to her. "It's still _mine_ ," she says. Then she finally asks, "So why don't you wear the diamond skin? In private, I mean?"

"With every choice comes a sacrifice," Emma says. "How did you feel walking around Paris today?"

"Different," Mystique admits. "People looked at me differently."

Emma nods, which isn't really an answer. 

"But, " Mystique pushes, "We're all mutants here. We wouldn't look at you differently."

"Perhaps not," Emma says. "But blue is your choice. This is my choice."

Mystique nods and fidgets with her dress strap again. Emma takes a step closer to her and fixes it for her. She adds, "So you understand that we do what we can with the choices we are given. Stop agonizing over leaving your brother. The decision is made. This is who you want to be."

"Who I've _chosen_ to be," Mystique says. She's touched by the attention and also annoyed at the confirmation that Emma must be reading her mind.

Emma smiles. "Choose to be yourself. It's what I always do." She sashays out of the living room, leaving Mystique to frown at the _Vogue_ models and wonder what it even means to choose to be herself. 

For now, she supposes, it means being a woman who's mutant and proud. A woman who looks good in hot pink and listens to her friends. It means being Mystique.


End file.
